"Good-night," she whispered, stretching toward him her hand--"that was all I wanted--to--to touch you before I closed my eyes to-night." He bent and looked at the hand lying within his own--the little hand with its fresh fragrant palm upturned and the white fingers relaxed, drooping inward above it--at the delicate bluish vein in the smooth wrist.
Then he released the hand, untouched by his lips; and she withdrew it and closed the door; and he heard her laugh softly, and lean against it, whispering: "Now that I am safely locked in--I merely wish to say that--in the old days--a lady's hand was sometimes--kissed.

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Oh, but you are too late, my poor friend! I can't come out; and I wouldn't if I could--not after what I dared to say to you.